


Kibosh

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [246]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluffy, M/M, morning bedroom scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 20:51:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8028496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: kibosh: noun: KYE-bahsh: something that serves as a check or stopfrom Merriam-Webster:"For almost two centuries, kibosh has taxed the ingenuity of etymologists. It was prominent enough in lower-class London speech to attract the attention of Charles Dickens, who used it in 1836 in an early sketch, but little else is certain. Claims were once made that it was Yiddish, despite the absence of a plausible Yiddish source. Another hypothesis points to Gaelic caidhp bháis—pronounced similarly to, and meaning, "coif of death"—explained as headgear a judge put on when pronouncing a death sentence, or as a covering pulled over the face of a corpse when a coffin was closed. But evidence for any metaphorical use of this phrase in Irish is lacking, and kibosh is not recorded as spoken in Ireland until decades after Dickens' use."





	Kibosh

Ping

Ping

Ping

(all Lestrade, all apologies regarding last night's case, ignored, he would understand.)

Mycroft's rather annoying though beautiful ringtone, that Sherlock added so he would get some pleasure from speaking to his brother, when he bothered answering it - some piece by some rather well-trained violinist, trilled not once, or thrice, but six times. A brief but terse message put the kibosh on further attempts at communication with his brother. After the message was relayed, both phones were shut off, and John shimmied out of his robe and silently climbed back into bed.

Mrs. Hudson was on a cruise with Mrs. Turner and her married ones, courtesy of an obscenely grateful client; they would be gone for a week. Door bell was in the freezer behind the bags of peas, the ones they used for 'the thing with' when not applied to black eyes. He knew it unlikely that they would have an entire week to themselves, but he had taken every precaution. Including actually locking the doors. So, John propped himself up on an elbow, rested his head in his hand and spent the next two hours and thirty-four minutes, just watching the man next to him sleep. He grinned slightly as eventually Sherlock's eyes opened and he attempted to focus; he blinked and sighed, rubbed his nose, and winced. 

"Still hurts." He mumbled.

"Yeah, I bet, he nailed you pretty good."

"Not broken, though, know what that feels like, this isn't it. Why is it so quiet? Oh. You, John Watson are a genius."

"About time you noticed." John smirked and kissed the undamaged bridge of Sherlock's nose. "Do you want tea?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"Breakfast?"

He rolled his eyes in response.

John pressed his palm against his own chest and raised an eyebrow.

Sherlock's eyes danced and he nodded slowly.

"You have me, don't you know that?"

"Do I?"

John picked up Sherlock's hand, kissed the slightly bruised knuckles, and looked at the rings that graced their fingers. 

"Of course. Course you do. Idiot."


End file.
